


your fantasy is my legacy

by AnonymousPumpkin



Series: Silver, Crimson, Black [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (Seriously I don't like Cullen and neither does Laz), (This whole fic is basically how Cullen made Laz's life hell), Blind Character, Circle Mages looking out for each other, Cullen critical, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, He ruins her life just by being in her general vicinity, Introspection, One-Sided Attraction, Paranoia, Pre-Canon, They don't even interact really tho lol, almost a character study, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPumpkin/pseuds/AnonymousPumpkin
Summary: Laz Surana is twenty-two when Ser Cullen comes to the Tower, a newly made Templar. She thinks nothing more of him than any other. He is one more faceless suit of armor to avoid, neither so zealous as to be violent, nor so quiet as to be dangerous. She only thinks it odd that he became a Templar at all, given his clumsiness, his stuttering speech, and his breathing problems.She is twenty-three when she's told that he is only clumsy, stuttering, and breathless in her presence. "Love" is what the other apprentices call it, but the bitter tone of their voice reveals something darker. The Circle, already a prison, becomes a treacherous minefield as Laz is consumed by the terrible paranoia and helplessness that comes with being a Templar's favorite.An introspective examination of how one man's mismanaged attention affects a young woman whose life was already kind of in shambles. No romance and no interaction of that nature.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I writing this instead of my novel? Why am I posting this at 12:30am? Why am I posting something I've only written either very early in the morning or very late at night?
> 
> Anyway, just in case the tags didn't make it clear, this is not a Cullen/Surana fic. This is my interpretation of how my Surana would actually react to that whole...thing, and how I think it would actually affect her life knowing that one of her prison guards is lowkey obsessed with her. It's also set up for Silver, Crimson, Black, so. Yay for that.
> 
> This fic was mostly written listening to 'sea castle' by purity ring on repeat, but I also listened to 'House of Memories' by Panic! At the Disco (which is where I got the title, kinda) and 'You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You' by Michael Buble a few times. I highly recommend listening to at least one of those songs while reading, cause it might distract you from how much I ramble lol

“I heard that Cullen’s in _love_ with you.”

Laz is already twenty-three the first time she hears those words. It seems surreal to think of it that way, really, considering how much it changed her life. It’s one of those simple changes to your life that’s so profound and consuming that soon you can hardly imagine a time without it, let alone when it came about.

She remembers the day well, though, surprisingly enough. Days in the Circle tend to blend together until entire years seem to become one massive moment of held breath and trembling hands and treacherous thoughts. But that one day stands out…or, more specifically, that one _moment_. She doesn’t remember meeting Cullen, and she doesn’t remember when his behavior towards her became strange (or if it had always been that way), but she remembers that moment…

She heard the girl _giggling_ before she heard her footsteps. It was the kind of high, hysterical giggle that one got used to living in the Circle. It was the kind of laughter that wasn’t actually mirthful, or even that happy. It was used to cover up treacherous words or dangerous feelings, or so Laz understood. But this time was somehow _louder_ than she was used to. Ordinarily this kind of laugh was hidden behind hands and walls and in the crooks of another’s shoulder…but this girl was laughing quite loudly. It’s almost like she _wanted_ to be heard.

She found Laz alone, which was, and is, fairly typical.

It was late afternoon, nearly evening, and Laz had been studying with Jowan. Or, he had been studying with her. When he’d gotten tired and frustrated and gone back to the quarters, she’d remained, not wanting to return to bed just yet.

The girl slid onto the bench opposite Laz and set her elbows heavily down on the table. She sighed heavily, and a bit dreamily, and very loudly.

“Look who it is!” she said, and Laz braced herself.

Historically such a statement would be followed by something venomous or spiteful. Laz was not popular by any definition of the word, and she wasn’t not unused to people being cruel simply for cruelty’s sake.

That day, however, the girl just leaned in and her voice dropped dramatically. She kept the same hysterically gleeful tone, but she nearly whispered across the table,

“You’re the lucky one that _Cullen’s_ in love with!”

Laz remembers waiting for a moment, expecting for a punchline or a flash of pain. Nothing of the sort was forthcoming. The girl tapped the table with what seems to be manic light, but it very rapidly dissolved into something anxious and urgent. Laz got the impression that there is something more she was supposed to be reading into this, but…she didn’t quite understand.

“…the lucky one,” she deadpanned in return, unable to think of a proper response to being told a stranger loves her by another stranger.

The girl, rather than being offended or taken aback by Laz’s seeming obliviousness, giggled high again. Laz remembers that sound, and often winces at the memory. It was a sharp and grating sound that conveys no mirth.

“Yup!” she agreed. “ _I_ heard he was asking _all around_ the Templar quarters about you! He even asked _Greagoir_ about you!” Her voice dropped low again. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, honestly!”

She left before Laz could point out that she was, as a matter of fact, _blind_ , and there is likely a great deal about the Circle that she didn’t _notice_.

She remembers that the girl stopped giggling as soon as she left the table, and her footfalls were so quiet that Laz almost didn’t hear them leaving. It was almost like she’s trying not to be heard

The absurdity of the exchange sticks with her for a while afterwards.

At first, Laz is just confused, and somewhat wary. She only vaguely knows who Ser Cullen is, and she cannot imagine why anyone would think he was in love with her. They’d never even spoken! Nor can she imagine why a total stranger would want to _tell_ her. She chalks it up at first to a practical joke, or perhaps a case of mistaken identity (not that there were many other blind elves with bright red hair in the Circle, of course…), and for a short time, there is no evidence to support the opposite.

It doesn’t take long for her to figure it out.

Laz was twenty-two years old when Ser Cullen came to the tower, a newly christened Templar. He was a fumbling eighteen, barely a man and already placed in a position of power far beyond his comprehension. If not for the comical imbalance of their positions, Laz would almost feel sorry for him. She honestly never thought much of him, dismissing him at first as one of the weaker-minded Templar who were neither so zealous as to be dangerous nor so quiet as to be untrustworthy. He had an uncomfortable habit of blurting out his thoughts, he was at times amusingly clumsy, and he had a very serious breathing problem that made her wonder how in the world he had been allowed to become a Templar.

It isn’t long before she is (cheerfully) informed that his fumbling, his babbling, and his broken breathing are only ever in her presence.

Laz never does learn that girl’s name, but she holds her dear to her heart nonetheless. She was the first person to go out of her way to warn Laz of the danger, and for that, Laz can be nothing but grateful. Without her first warning, Laz would have gone those first few months before Cullen’s infatuation became plain completely obvious and…well. Who knew what might have become of it. Laz has made a habit of wandering alone and studying late, which was not the kind of thing one did when one was the object of a Templar’s infatuation.

Her obliviousness, and the obliviousness of the others, doesn’t last very long.

As Cullen becomes easier to read, knowledge of Laz’s unwitting involvement spreads through the entire apprentices’ floor. Any time she finds herself wandering away into a secluded corner, she hears someone giggle or gasp, and they playfully remind her that Cullen is in love with her. Sometimes it’s a frank statement, silently asking her a question or gently guiding her away from the hall he’s patrolling. Sometimes it slips into casual conversation (when casual conversation was had) when she and Jowan make plans to study late in the library.

“Ohh, _alone_ in the library?” the boy says, lightly punching her arm. She doesn’t know him either, but he jumped into the conversation as soon as he heard her plans. “Just the _two_ of you?”

At first, Laz thinks he’s accusing her and Jowan of being involved, and she tries not to wince too obviously. “Yes, the two of us,” she confirms. She considers pointing out that Jowan is pretty much the only person in the entire Tower who treats her like an actual person, but before she can, the boy keeps going.

“I’d be careful about that!” he warns her jovially. “ _Cullen_ might get jealous!”

He laughs, and Jowan laughs. Laz tries to smile.

Laz politely informs him that Jowan was her dear friend and precisely her friend, but her blood has turned to ice. She feels the blood leave her face and she tries not to glance quickly towards the door. She puts her arms around herself and steps closer to Jowan. He reaches out and touches her elbow, and he suggests that maybe they should just get an early start tomorrow. That’s what all the other apprentices who are struggling with Grace’s instruction are doing, he says. She agrees, and the boy tells her with more energy than is necessary that that sounds like a wonderful idea. They bid him goodbye and leave the library, and Laz replays the conversation in her head.

 _Cullen might get jealous_ , the boy might have been saying.

 _Jowan’s not strong enough to fend Cullen off,_ the boy might have been saying.

 _If Jowan leaves you alone for an instant, Cullen might find you_ , the boy might have been saying.

She and Jowan decide to forgo any extra studying, and instead Laz spends the night awake in her bunk, listening carefully to the Templars outside the doors.

Laz is, truth be told, a bit surprised by everyone’s attention. She’s not popular. In addition to being Irving’s obvious favorite, and being one of the most skilled entropy mages in the Circle, she’s also uncertain and awkward in conversation, which often translates into bluntness bordering on rudeness. But apparently even the resentment that most other apprentices harbor for her is overpowered by a genuine concern for her wellbeing, at least in this regard. Many of them seem to go out of their way to remind her whenever she tries to forget that she’s in any danger. They’re still not her _friends_ , not the way Jowan is, but they aren’t enemies either. Several of them have even told her plainly that if she’s ever in any immediate danger, she can try and find them and they would do what they could for her.

She never does go to any of them for help, partly out of pride and partly because she is very careful to never need their help in the first place.

Eventually, even Jowan begins to ask her about it, though he doesn’t hide behind the false pretense of conversation as others did. He frankly asks her if she knows what’s going on, if she wants him to walk with her more, and if he needs to scout the halls ahead when they go walking. It’s sweet of him, and Laz doesn’t even try to pretend that his concern isn’t a comfort. She accepts his offers, though eventually he proves to be so unsubtle in his attempts that she begs him to stop before they got in trouble.

Soon enough, she begins to hear the voices even when she’s alone, when no one’s talking to her. They play constantly in the back of her mind, a chorus of paranoia and urgency. Any time she finds herself wanting to just get away from everyone and hide away alone, or when she thinks that she should take a quick shortcut through an empty hallway, her mind teasingly reminds her that she had someone _else_ to think about.

Cullen’s infatuation (she never once considers it ‘love,’ not given the circumstances) grows overwhelming, attaching itself as a permanent fixture in her thoughts. It seems to consume her at times. Some nights she lies awake and listens to the rustling and faint breathing outside the apprentices’ quarters, and she thinks to herself, _You’re the one Cullen’s in love with!_ and it feels like it was her entire world. It’s the kind of thing that, once known, cannot be _un_ -known, no matter how hard she wishes it. It almost seems to change her entire _identity_ , so wholly did it consume her. She is Laz Surana, whom Cullen loves, who cannot walk in any secluded place without someone cheerfully calling after her.

The Circle becomes a different kind of prison. In the Circle, one leans to listen for the sound of the Templars’ feet, for the pitch of their voices, and the tone of their voice. Laz especially has always been very careful to identify which Templars were which and what mood they were in, as she had a talent of getting on Greagoir’s bad side. Any Templar is a dangerous Templar, but even more terrifying is a Templar who has singled you out. Laz learns to dread certain sounds, certain smells, even certain colors.

Ser Cullen wears a slightly different belt than the other Templars. It’s more orange than red, either faded from the sun or decorated with some kind of pattern. If he stands at the very end of the hall when she comes out into the hallway, she can turn and see it. It’s little more than a smudge of color in a sea of nothing, but she comes to fear it. Ser Cullen smells of sawdust, and summer grass, and a sharp, sweet thing she doesn’t know. It’s too subtle a scent to linger anywhere he goes, but if he walks very quickly (which he tends to do), she can smell it in the rush of air as he passes. He has a catch in his breath (when he talks to _her_ ), and he tends to rub the back of his neck when he was anxious (which he always seems to be in her presence). She memorizes the way his armor sounds when he raises his arm and strains to reach back, the particular grating and sliding of the plates. This is the soundtrack of her nightmares, and the one hapless demon who takes Cullen’s form one night finds itself regretting the decision quickly.

She occasionally finds herself _talking_ to him. Laz had made a habit of talking to the Templars, trying to judge which were the most dangerous and which could be, to a certain extent, trusted. It’s little more than harmless greetings and farewells, though some of them are pleasant enough to stop her and have an actual conversation. It’s inevitable, really, that she would end up talking to Cullen, though she finds herself a bit disturbed by how _often_ it seemed to happen. Sometimes he’s hanging around Greagoir in Irving’s office and she is forced by cultural standards of politeness to greet him. Sometimes he’s guarding the library doors early in the morning, and she has to ask him to unlock the door for her. More often than not, he’s on walking patrol, and one of his companions calls her down and talk sto her, which she quickly gathers is a way to tease him for his obvious attraction to her. Sometimes she thinks that Greagoir is purposefully assigning him to areas she frequents, to either tease him or terrorize her…or, more likely, a little bit of both.

She tries not to treat him differently, at first. She tries not to avoid him or to be cruel, but she also tries not to be too friendly or inviting when they inevitably speak, or when she mentions him to others. She hopes that her coolness might be a deterrent to his unfounded affection, and that her pleasantness will serve to soothe any resentment he might feel towards her unspoken rejection.

Unfortunately, the small bits of attention she gives him seem to be enough to satiate him, and his infatuation only seems to _grow_ , until it reaches the point where Laz doesn’t avoid him out of fear of what he would do if she did.

“Let him think you don’t know,” Jowan advises her, though given Jowan’s history with others’ emotions she suspects the advice had come from someone else. “Just never bring it up, and never mention it, and just…just treat him like anyone else, so he doesn’t have any reason to hate you.”

She takes the advice to heart, but soon it takes every bit of strength she has not to turn and run at the sound of him. Luckily, as the year goes on and she reaches a turning point in her studies, she realizes that if she is devoted enough to her studies, she can spend more time in Irving’s office and the entropy section of the library, where Ser Cullen (and most Templars) doesn’t frequent. She manages to hide her avoidance behind studiousness, and stops talking to _any_ Templars under the pretense of devoting herself wholly to her studies.

For the most part, it works. Laz manages to avoid Ser Cullen _and_ she manages to find a way to keep him off her mind when he isn’t in her presence. She can almost make believe that none of this was even happening, if she just spends long enough studying decay and flesh and change.

Once, though…once he finds her alone in the middle of the night.

Laz has struggled to sleep at “regular hours” her entire life, long before she came to the Circle, and her late night talks with Irving often mask her insomnia. The healers suspect it has something to do with her blindness, and her inability to differentiate between daylight and darkness. Between that and the nightmares that have become increasingly frequent in her adulthood, Laz spends more time awake than not, and has gotten used to having the privilege to walk the Circle at night (mostly) un-accosted.

One night she drifts through the halls. She had actually managed to get to sleep that night, but had woken in only a few hours. She doesn’t want to go see Irving, and it feels too late for him to be awake anyway.  The complete silence of the Tower is unnerving, and she begins to think that maybe she is pushing the boundaries of what the Templars will allow.

After a great deal of deliberation, she decides that she is too tired to care.

She stops by what can hesitantly be called a window. It’s no taller than her torso and no wider than her arm, but if she stands close to it, she can feel the wind coming off the lake. She leans against the cool stone and rests her forehead against the stone and listens to the distant sound of the water.

That’s how he finds her, and she knows it’s him long before he starts stuttering and sputtering and coughing. She invents some story about getting lost on the way back from Irving’s office. He doesn’t even question it. Much like everyone in the Circle, he vastly underestimates her navigational abilities, assuming that simply because she can’t see, she is helpless.

All he does is escort her back to her room, but Laz still has nightmares.

As she slides back into her bed, the girl on the bunk above her leans over. The wood creaks and threatens to break, but she ignores it. Laz can barely hear it above the pounding in her head, and she struggles to keep her breathing even.

“A lover’s tryst, Surana?” the girl asks teasingly, but she’s too tired to fully mask the panicked concern in her voice.

“He only brought me back to the room,” Laz whispers back, too tired to lie. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to rub away the lingering feelings on her skin. “You know mages and Templars don’t… _involve_. And you know I don’t…” She trails off, suddenly afraid that he might not have wandered as far away as she’d thought, and that he might have heard what she almost confessed. “I’m very tired,” she says, but it sounds more like a question, like she is asking permission.

There is a beat of silence, and then a quiet sigh of what Laz assumes is relief. “Hmm…whatever you say,” the girl says, almost completely dropping the pretense now. Her voice is tired and sad, but her next offer is genuine. “If you wanna switch bunks, let me know. I don’t mind sleeping on the bottom, if you don’t mind getting help up the ladder.”

Laz politely declines the offer, but promises to keep it in mind.

She tosses and turns for several more terrible hours and eventually drifts back to sleep. In her dreams, she doesn’t walk alone. There is a large presence beside her, awkwardly tucking her small arm against its cold, metal body. All around her, she can hear giggles and teasing voices, which soon morph into horrified gasps and warnings. But the figure holds her fast against its side, and no matter how hard she struggles, she can do nothing but follow it to its unknown destination. Thin hands grasp her legs and arms and waist, tugging her insistently in every direction, but none are strong enough to pull her away…

She wakes the next morning stifling a scream.

That night shakes her more than she will ever admit. After that, she pushes herself harder. Her sleep schedule becomes more and more erratic, but she forces herself to stay in her bed when everyone else is, going through the motions of spells while she lies awake through the night. She spends more time with Grace, mastering the more nuanced concepts of entropic theory. She spends more time with Irving, and he teaches her what little spirit magic he can, to compliment the dizzying complexity of her preferred school. She spends less time with Jowan, though not of her own volition. He seems to be avoiding her, or else he’s too busy, which she understands. She spends less time in the library, and when she is there, she is in a group of other struggling entropy mages (all entropy mages are struggling, in all honesty). One by one, her companions stop coming to study. Some reappear as mages, retreating to their own quarters. Some do not.

She focuses on her studies, on the Harrowing that she knows is coming, and she puts Ser Cullen far from her mind. He seems to do the opposite. The harder she studies and the more she avoids him (and everyone), the more she hears the warning whispers, both within her mind and without. She isn’t unused to the quiet, bodiless whispers that sound from the dark corners around the Tower, but she _is_ unused to them being so… _specific_. They’ve never said her name before, nor given her warnings, and yet now that is all they do. They don’t hide behind the pretense of jovial conversation as the other apprentices must. Instead, they taunt her, and find delight in her fear. She considers asking Irving if the Fade can bleed through into the material world without anyone needing to be possessed…but she decides she doesn’t want to know the answer.

She’s not the only one in this situation, of course. There are too many mages, and too many Templars, for them not to have preferences. There are several other mages who find themselves in the unfortunate position of being a Templar’s favorite, and there is not a one of them who is not familiar with the other apprentices being nosy and gossip-y and over-protective. More often than not, the Templars go several years before doing anything, although some lucky mages disappear before it can come to that.

She’s seen this happen before, and she knows that there will likely always be someone who is keeping an eye on her or on Ser Cullen or both. Unless she strives to be, she won’t ever be alone. Of course, she also knows, because she has seen this happen before, that if something were to actually _happen_ to her, no one would do anything. How could they? The Templars are watching their every move, and every action is suspect. The mages are powerless to do anything but warn her and hope, and she is powerless to do anything but listen and hope. She avoids Ser Cullen when she can, she says in crowded rooms and avoids dark solitary corners, but if he decides to turn this game of hide and seek into an active pursuit, she’s doomed. If she defends herself against him, it’s Tranquility for her, and she fears Tranquility, perhaps, more than anything. The Tranquil are even more helpless. She isn’t stupid. She knows what some of the Templars did to the Tranquil, who are incapable of saying no. She doesn’t need to hear the Starkhaven horror stories to know the worst of what could happen.

That’s the most terrible part of it, she eventually decides: the helplessness. Even more overwhelming than her fear and anger is the feeling of _despair_ , and of futility. She is completely at his mercy as much as any other Templar, but he’s different than any other Templar. Any Templar could beat her, could rape her, could kill her if they wish to. But no other Templar would make it _personal_. She can no more defend herself from him than she can change the weather, and every day that passes without incident is a blessing.

Sometimes, when the self-loathing and the anger gets the better of her, she wonders what it would take to get him, or anyone else, to snap. It would be better to die as a rebel, she thinks, than to fade into the cobweb and shadow of the Tower as another silent mage, or as another silenced Tranquil.

She pushes those thoughts down, of course, and continues in her studies. That is what one does in the Circle. Even if you are despairing, even if you find yourself wondering if you might be better off just not _being_ , you still go through the motions of hiding, of being good and well behaved, and, in Laz’s case, of being studious and overachieving and eager to please. It makes it easier to bounce back to those moments you are content, or resigned, or even a bit rebellious.

She wakes up the morning after her Harrowing in a bed that is not her own. She _is_ in the apprentices’ quarters, but whoever had brought her back hadn’t been paying terribly close attention to what they’d been doing. She has a brief moment of disorientation, and then of panic, and then of relief. Jowan is with her, and his hand on her arm, briefly, anchors her in the physical world.

For a brief moment, while her mind is still fresh and empty from the Harrowing, she forgets…well, in truth, she forgets a _lot_. For a brief, panicked moment she can’t even remember her own name. Jowan is patient with her, supplying her with the basic information of her identity and location as it comes back to her slowly. She tells him about the Harrowing, because she knows that she should, and because she knows she loves him too much not to tell him. Later, there are a great many other things she will do for love.

She wanders towards the door and she hears someone whistle for her attention as she makes the decision to walk out into the hall. She drifts uncertainly towards the woman, still groggy from…everything. Does she know this woman?

“Hello…” Her voice sounds slow and uncertain even to her own ears.

The woman doesn’t touch her, and from the sound of her voice doesn’t even turn to look at her. But there is something meaningful in the way she says,

“I heard Cullen’s in _love_ with you!”

The girl beside her makes a strangled sound, not a laugh or a sob, but something more…meaningful. Laz starts, and something instinctively breaks inside her. Her stomach drops and her skin goes cold and she finds herself listening carefully, straining her senses to take stock of the people around her. She lifts her eyes and turns them to the side, trying to look for…something. She can’t remember what it is she’s looking for, but she’ll know it when she sees it.

When Laz doesn’t immediately answer, the woman stops what she’s doing and turns. She steps a bit closer, leaning in. Her voice is carefree and bubbly.

“How was your rest?” she asks casually.

It takes Laz a moment to realize what _exactly_ is being asked. She tears her gaze away from what is likely just a wall, and looks at the woman for a long moment. In bits and pieces, she remembers. There’s a voice in the back of her head, but it’s too soft to hear.

She forces herself to smile, because she vaguely knows that she must. She doesn’t remember anything after the Pride demon, and nothing before waking up. Truth be told, she cannot even say for sure that she _did_ rest, though apparently she has been out for some time.

“It was fine,” she says. “I’m sore but…just from the test, I think.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t hysterical. There isn’t any hidden meaning to it. It is a genuine sound of joy, and of relief. She turns back around, reaching up to grab a book…or something. Laz can’t remember what’s on these shelves.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, and that sounds genuine too. “Do you want me to take you upstairs? I heard something about Irving looking for you, and you might need help up all those stairs!”

Laz waits before she answers. She hears the Templars outside the door. One of them is standing very still, every now and then falling back against the stone wall. One of them is fidgeting with his armor, which is the wrong size or just sitting wrong. One of them is very loudly complaining to his partner, who is only barely tolerating his bitterness.

“I should be fine,” she says. “Thank you. It’s crowded, but it’s not too bad.”

The woman understands and says nothing more.

Laz wanders out of the apprentices’ quarters, and makes her way down the hall. She looks both ways, but she sees no smudge of orange. She hears no grating metal, and she hears no catching breath. Although, in that moment, she can’t remember why she even needs to look for those things.

Her memories return, not as quickly as she would like. She makes her way slowly and meanderingly towards Irving, and then towards Jowan. She talks to a few other apprentices, only two more of whom comment on Cullen. She savors these moments of ignorance, though she can’t remember why she should. It’s not until she walks towards a door and hears a familiar voice that it all comes back.

She is polite to Ser Cullen. She doesn’t smile at him, though in her oblivious innocence she does ask why he is stuttering.

 “Someone _likes you_ ,” Jowan whispers teasingly behind her, and her hands fold slowly around the edges of her sleeves.

Yes. Yes, that’s it.

Laz was twenty-three when she learns that Ser Cullen “loves” her. It is strange and unwelcome and terrifying to think about it like that. In only a year, her entire life seems to have shifted.  As her memories return she remembers scheduling her day in such a way that she would never have to speak to him, or even let him see her. She remembers people she’d never met before striking casual conversation just to tell her that his patrol schedule had changed, or that he was sick for the week, or that he’d been posted to one of her favorite haunts. She remembers going from Laz Surana, whom Irving favored, to Laz Surana, whom Cullen loved, and how completely that had changed everything.

And she hates it.

The strength of the feeling surprises her, so much so that she speaks thoughtlessly, recklessly, and it’s only after she’s listening to Cullen run that she realizes her moment of cruelty may have ramifications. She stands there for a moment, dumfounded. Everything in her feels fresh and unfamiliar after her Harrowing, and she examines this hot, deep-seated hatred as if she has never felt it before. It makes her hands tremble and she longs for her staff to grip. She turns her head slowly to look in the direction Cullen ran and she feels her lips pull back in a hideous grimace.

The anger she has been suppressing for the past year and a half rises to the top when she is too raw to do with it what she ought to. She spends the entire day trying not to snarl at every Templar she passes, and she barely manages to keep a civil tongue with Irving. He suggests she rests for a few more days, and she spends the next week in her room, memorizing the new small space, pacing around late in the night. She thinks of every Templar she has ever made conversation with, all the lists and reminders in her mind.

Don’t go here on certain days. Don’t spend too much time with your only friend. Don’t talk to this person unless you have someone with you. Don’t spend too much time in this section of the library. Don’t ask for this book. Don’t make it obvious that you can’t sleep. Don’t talk about your nightmares. Don’t spend too much time with your teacher.  Don’t ever talk about your family. Don’t ever talk about wanting to go outside. Don’t spend too much time with anyone. Don’t ever walk alone, don’t ever be too friendly, don’t ever be too cold.

 _I heard that Cullen’s in_ love _with you!_

Laz’s life falls back to normal, albeit not for very long. She becomes a mage and moves into a large, empty room by herself. She goes through the motions, less convincingly than before. In the future, she will do away with pretenses and playing pretend. She will do one terrible thing out of love, and many smaller, better things out of spite. She will lose her greatest friend to freedom and hope, and makes an enemy of the only other person who ever claimed to love her. She will take on a student, and then another, and another. She will protect them, more than anyone ever protected her. She will do terrible things for love.

In only a few months’ time, her life will be so radically different that the misplaced attentions of one man will seem tame and almost _safe_ compared what she faces.

But that’s not now. Now, she is small and paranoid and vulnerable. Now, she is watching the object of her nightmares walk down the hall, a barely visible smudge of movement in a sea of nothingness. The scent of sawdust and summer grass fades, and the smudge of orange fades. Jowan guides her away, and she lets him. Anger simmers in her stomach and she stuffs it down, but it doesn’t stay down for long.

She is Laz Surana, whom Cullen loves, but that is not all she is.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Here we are. This is half character introspection, part set up for my eventually forthcoming AU, and part explanation of my (extremely fucked up, now that I think about it) interpretation of that one line in the Magi Origin. I always found it a bit strange that someone would say something so....frank and off-putting in that...really disturbingly chipper voice. And while I realize it was probably just heavy-handed exposition on the writers' part, what _if_ it's actually secret mage code for "Cullen's kind of obsessed with you and you disappeared for several nights and appeared in your bed, are you okay?" Would that be fucked up or what.
> 
> A huge thanks to my brother for reading this over and helping me edit before I posted. It's very late at night and you're amazing.


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